Nous allons regarder Paris du Brûler
by mrs.sunflower
Summary: Francis flinched as his chin was forced up roughly by the end of a riding crop, "You will call me Meister Ludwig...that is clear, ja?" Rating is for NonCon in later chapters and all the naughty words. Dont like dont read.


**Introduction:**Hey guys this is sunflower here. Um this is not my first fanfiction but it is my first in many years so please be kind. Um flames are whatever i don't really care. Your welcome to your opinion.

**summary:**Francis is given to the Germans by his boss and pain ensues. Ludwig is very serious about making Francis understand what it means to be dominated. Eventually the war ends and Ludwig is forced to realize that what he did will have very serious consequences. The rating is for the naughty words and the NonCon in later chapters.

**i own nothing but my own writing 3**

Francis' lips curled into a soft smile as he watched his guests twirl around the large dance floor. His golden blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, showing off his long, slender neck and his beautiful jaw structure. His eyes were a bright ocean blue, so clear you could nearly see the waves when you looked into them. His hands moved from his side to rest at his hips. He was dressed remarkably for this evenings festivities. He wore an electric blue frock coat, trimmed in gold lace and other dressings. His cuffs and lapels displayed the same shade of gold but were weighed down with even more buttons and rope. Under that he wore a soft cream shirt with a blueish gray over vest, trimmed in black ribbon and lace. On bottom he wore simple black pants that puffed slightly on the thighs before tightening at the knees. He completed his look with heeled brown leather boots, and black leather gloves.

Tonight was his night, he would make it something special. Tonight he would celebrate his freedom. His life, and the ability to do with it as he pleased. It was as if he was somewhere else. He was high above the drama and the chaos of the war. He was blissfully safe...for the moment at least. In truth the Nazi party was invading, and they were doing so quickly and without mercy. The danger that lay within the truth was to much for him to deal with. His mind refused to process...refused to accept his soon to be fate.

"Monsieur Francis?" He was jolted out of his thoughts by the soft voice. He turned to see who was requesting his attention, but could see anyone. "Mon chéri ?" His voice held a touch of confusion as he scanned the room for whoever called his name. Suddenly he felt a gentle tug on the edge of his coat. He looked down in surprise and was met with big nervous blue eyes belonging to a little boy. "Ah...oui?" The child grinned, but it was clear his nerves were effecting him, "Can we dance?" He mumbled. Francis felt his heart melt at the innocence of the child, "oui...that would be my pleasure."

He offered the child his hand before twirling him out onto the dance floor. He could feel the affectionate gazes of mothers as they watched him charm the child beyond his wits. "Ah...mon petit ange...you are making me quite the celebrity. Everyone wants to see who the lucky man is who gets to dance with such a strapping young lad, such as yourself." The boy blushed a deep shade of pink, "I think you may have it confused." The older man smirked, "Oh no...i am very old...everyone wants to know the new face. Speaking of which, your name mon chu?" The blue eyed boy offered him a nervous laugh, "Nicolas..." Francis nodded lightly as the song came to a close, "Nicolas vous êtes très beau...remember that, oui?" A starry eyed look filled Nicolas's eyes as Francis bowed out of their dance. Instead he moved to converse with the other guests.

Something inside of him felt uneasy. The innocence of that child. The joy he that had from just having his simple child-like advances accepted. It was so cute, but at the same time... He swallowed the lump of emotion that was steadily building in his throat. This nation, this country, this home he had built. He had failed so many times to protect it. He had instead retreated and satisfied himself with dazzling it. Oui, how could they see with sequins in their eyes? However this time no amount of smoke screens and glitter would be able to take away from the fact they were about to undergo a serious invasion.

The very thought was beginning to make him feel ill. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be a nation. Hell, he couldn't even lead a nation. Every joke he had ever heard about his inability to protect himself began to fill his mind. Every time a person had laughed and pointed, or turned their nose up at him because he was to weak. Every time he had lost a fight and convinced himself that he had lost due to the will of God. All the blood of his people that he had shed. The people he had killed do to his incompetence. Nobody was to blame but himself. This rested on his shoulders, their lives were in his hands, their deaths were on his conscience. From the moment they rose with the sun to live, breath, and exist. To reach their dreams, to laugh, to cry, to fall in love. Every child looked to him for guidance. How to grow strong and live with pride. They were born though his existence, they would live in his promise, and die for his honor.

Panic gripped his chest tightly, the room began to swim before his eyes. "Mon dieu...mon dieu...what's to be done..?" He muttered to himself. It was becoming clear that he needed to make his way to his room. There was no need to call the party to a close. He just needed a little rest. The blonde slowly started to twirl and weave his way across the dance floor. Hands grasped at his coat as the guests attempted to slow his retreat. They wanted to keep him there, trap him there. "No no I am sorry...i must retire. I am...I am feeling faint" He explained as he pushed through the crowd.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he broke free. His entire body seemed to trembled, his nerves were shot. "Mes personnes...i have failed you in so many ways." With a weary sigh he turned away from the ball and dragged his body up the stairs to reach his room. With little to no regard to what he was wearing he flopped down on his king sized, four poster bed. He couldn't think about what tomorrow might hold. He had no energy...no will power. Francis squeezed his ocean eyes shut in an attempt to trap the tears that had started to form. He refused to cry like a child.

He was jolted from his inner thought monologue by the sound of someone clearing their throat. He scrambled to his feet as fast as his body would allow. To face his visitor. "Ah Monsieur Pétain...to what to I owe this visit?" His boss moved further into the room, "I was hoping to speak with you about the war." Francis nodded, "Oh but of course. Please have a seat." He motioned to a nearby chair and waited until Petain was comfortably seated before he himself returned to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. "s'il vous plait… speak at your leisure" The 84 year old man smiled warmly at Francis. "We're in good shape...i think we're going to win this one." He said earnestly. His words relaxed the blonde beyond belief. "Really? You think...we have a chance?" The older man laughed with gusto. "A chance? Dear boy we have more than that!" Francis surveyed his boss with a look of uncertainty. "You wouldn't lie to me...would you Petain?" He asked hesitantly. The look that crossed his boss's face was that of shock, "Are you accusing me of something?" His eyes narrowed as anger slowly began to morph his expression. Bonnefoy shook his head in embarrassment, "uh...uh uh ummm no no not at all." He laughed and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. Luckily his boss didn't seem in the mood to press the issue.

"Bon garçon...so how about we celebrate with a little wine, oui?" Francis nodded and scrambled to retrieve a bottle and two glasses, "wait a moment Mon petite fleur. I brought my own for such an occasion." The blonde stopped in his tracks, "that was thoughtful of you Parton." He returned to his seat, accepting the glass of wine Petain had poured. "To France," he toasted. Francis raised his glass in agreement, "to the freedom we'll keep another day."

Nearly the instant the liquid touched his lips that he could tell something was wrong. By the time it hit the back of his throat his veins were turning to ice. It was as if the world was moving in slow motion. The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the hardwood floor. The wine tore down his esophagus like poison darts. It burned and chilled his body faster than he could keep up. Soon the room was fading in and out of focus, "Pa-patron?" He whimpered before his body fell into unconsciousness.

If you like what you saw please review and i will update. Things will get juicy 3


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